Sansa and Sandor, an alternate tale
by natus draconum
Summary: An alternate tale of Sansa and Sandor, starting before the attack on King's Landing by Stannis. This will be added to over the coming few weeks. Please do review, this is my first go at fan fiction so would appreciate the advice. Warning - contains violent scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**SANSA**

Sansa had always liked sapphires. She tilted lightly up on her toes and lifted her waves of auburn hair to admire the effect of the heavy sapphire and diamond necklace in the mirror. Hung around her slim, pale throat it brought out the colour of her blue eyes, Tully eyes. For a moment a vision of her mother, Catelyn danced in front of her then faded as fast as it came. She didn't belong here. Her heart longed for the North, for her family, for Winterfell. Sansa wished she could see them all. Everybody. Her thoughts strayed for a moment to Jeyne. Jenyne loved pretty things, she would think this necklace simply divine. If she is still alive, that is. A wave of sadness washed over her and tears pricked in her eyes.

'You look beautiful 'ma lady' said her maid breaking her contemplation. Good, she thought, bitterness rising in her throat. Joffrey likes me to look pretty. Thinking of Jeyne had reminded her of the time she had first met the handsome, blonde young prince and how her tummy had fluttered and danced, filled with butterflies and the warmth of a promised kiss. Arya, though, had taken against him from the start. How could she see, him, truly see him for the creature that he was, and yet she had not? She prayed for Arya, prayed that her rough and tumble little sister had made it away, made it to the safety of Riverrun or the North.

A growl emanating from the shadows behind her made her start. 'Look at those fine feathers, little bird! It is such a shame your wings are clipped.' Sansa was used to the coarseness of Ser Sandor Clegane yet his words left a trickle of dread running down her spine. Was he sending a warning? Or, was it merely a cruel jape? Yet, of all of Joffrey's Kingsguard, the Hound was the least ill suited to foolery. Ferocity emenated from the very pores of his skin and his very presence evoked fear in those around him. Yet, he had never raised a hand to her like so many of her betrothed's men and he had been the one that had come back for her; had saved her from the mob and the rape and bloody murder that would have ensued. She had tried to thank him for that mercy but he had been angry. Sansa no longer feared him. That had left her the day he had told her about the violence that had been done unto him by his brother, Ser Gregor, the mountain that rides.

She swept around, pale blue silks sweeping round her legs as she turned to face him. Her maids stealing terrified glances in his direction, scuttled from the room. A retort formed in her throat and then faded away as her eyes met his. For a fleeting moment she saw something there. What was it? Sorrow? Pity? 'What is it?" she asked quietly. 'What has happened? Is it news of Winterfell. Or of Robb?'

He did not answer her questions. 'You are to come with me. The King wishes to have your audience, and you know he does not like you to be late.' Sansa's mind was racing. She searched his face looking for an answer, but whatever had been there was gone, replaced by a grim, unreadable mask. 'You will see, girl,' he finally said shortly and said no more.

Sansa, went to step forward, towards Clegane and the open door but suddenly her feet felt like lead; heavy and clumsy. Then he stepped forward and a strong arm caught round her and held her steady. Sansa leaned in, suddenly grateful for the big man's presence; to not be making this walk alone. They walked together arm in arm, the silence-hanging heavy in the air. People passed by, faceless people , heads bowed not daring to look their way. The Hound had that effect on people Sansa knew but she was glad their eyes were not on her. Then they were nearly there and she could see the oak doors of the Great Hall, the home of the iron throne fronted by two of the Kings Guard in their white cloaks.

On the sight of Ser Illyan Sansa's legs nearly gave way altogether. She felt a tremendous urge to run from this place, to flee from whatever unimaginable terrors awaited her at the hands of her betrothed. Clegane gripped her arm more tightly and rasped into her ear, 'Say what he needs to hear. Recite all those pretty lies your Septon taught you, little bird. Tell 'em and tell 'em well.'


	2. Chapter 2

**SANDOR**

Clegane, led the girl forward until she stood directly in front of the young king. The Great Hall stood empty, save for the Kings Guard and his voice echoed as he announced 'The Lady Sansa Stark' and retreated to stand to the right and rear of the iron throne. The girl was left standing, lost and alone in the vast space.

Joffrey, was perched at the edge of his throne, his eyes fixed upon Sansa malevolently. 'So, what do you have to say for yourself?' 'My Lord?' ventured Sansa tentatively. Her voice was brittle and thin and she seemed to be finding it hard to get the words out. 'Don't lie to me, wolf bitch; my dog has told me what you have been getting up to in that godswood!' The little colour in Sansa's face drained and she went milky white, her eyes growing large and wide. Her hands were claws at her sides. Her gaze swung across to rest on him and he gazed ahead taking care to remain impassive and inscrutable.

Ser Dontos, some bloody Florian he mused. She would have had more chance of that broomstick horse he rode, carrying her off. It hadn't taken much to discover what had been going on. Joffrey had wanted him to keep a watch on the girl and so he had. It hadn't taken much to make the fool spill his secrets and beg for mercy like the craven that he was. What a naive little bird, with her dreams of knights and fair maids. He had tried to warn her but it would seem she would learn the hard way about the shit that masqueraded for honour in this place.

'A good dog can sniff out all manner of treasons, even those carried out under the guise of piety,' Joffrey continued. 'If you think, I am willing to overlook your blasphemies, you are mistaken.' Sansa looked bewildered. 'My lord?' she questioned, sounding desperate now. 'We pray, to the seven here' Joffrey retorted. 'I will not have my betrothed bleating to some northern tree gods here; no doubt praying for that traitor brother of yours to have success in battle.'

Clegane, saw the sudden realisation cross her face, that Joffrey did not know the truth of it and what that meant. The thing was he was still not sure himself why he had been unable to hand the truth to his king. He had never baulked before, at any task asked of him, even riding down that idiot butcher's boy the other Stark whelp had been so fond of. He was a dog and he knew his place, or at least he had. He was on shifting sand and the boundaries were blurring.

'Well?' Joffrey shouted his anger flaring now. 'My Lord' Sansa stated and something in the change of her tone made Clegane stiffen imperceptibly. Her head had lifted and she seemed to stand straighter, a calm resolution clear in her blue eyes. 'I have been bereft, away from the place I once called home and having to face the fact that my family are traitors to the true king.' Sansa paused, controlling the moment, before continuing, 'I mistakenly looked to seek solace in the Gods of the North, to assuage my grief. I promise you, my Lord that although I sought to banish my loneliness, I have only ever prayed for your good health and fortune. Please do punish me for my disobedience, I am but a weak girl and need to learn if I am to have any hope of becoming a fitting queen.' She bowed her head and curtseyed politely at Joffrey.

Seven bleedin' bells cursed Cleagane inwardly, what a moment for the little bird to find her courage. He watched Joffrey eyeing Sansa suspiciously, momentarily flummoxed by this unexpected behaviour. 'Very well' snapped Joffrey, a punishment you will have and may you learn a lesson from it. However, if I hear of any more of this nonsense, Ser Ilyan may well have another head to put on the walls next to your father's.'

'Ser Meryn,' Joffrey commanded. Ser Meryn Trent obediently stepped forward 'you heard, my lady. She wishes to be chastised for her behaviour.' As Ser Meryn drove his mailed fist into the girl's stomach and she gasped and fell to the ground Clegane saw the sadistic pleasure spread over the King's face. Unexpectedly he felt a knife turn in his stomach and he looked away suddenly sickened.

However, instead of staying on the ground and crying for forgiveness the girl had regained her feet. She looked straight at the king, her composure intact, her face impassive. Joffrey looked displeased and ordered Ser Meryn to strike her again and harder this time. This time he laid the flat of his sword across the back of her thighs; once, twice, three times. She cried out as the blows struck, the third making her legs buckle beneath her sending her face first into the floor. Then she struggled, cheek grazed and blood trickling from her lip once again to her feet to stare directly at the King. This is insanity Clegane thought. This will be her undoing. It was all for nought.

The King's face was flushed now and he was becoming agitated. 'This was particularly treacherous behaviour. Maybe, more is needed for you to truly learn your lesson.' He smirked at Sansa who gazed back unflinching, 'Ser Meryn, make her naked and beat her bloody.' Ser Meryn, immediately seized Sansa, and there was a ripping sound as his dagger sliced through the soft silks she wore leaving her bare from the waist upwards. She gasped, grabbing at the torn remnants of her dress seeking to cover herself.

'Enough.' The statement rang from Clegane's mouth, unbidden. 'Enough!' raged Joffrey. 'I'll be the one to judge that, dog.' Then Joffrey, stopped and a slow smile crept across his face. 'Maybe, you should be the one to strike the last blow,' he said thoughtfully. 'I think maybe, a kiss from a Hound, would suffice?'

A hot humiliation flared in his chest and the burned side of his face twitched. The girl's punishment was now to be his punishment. For the first time, his hand still resting on his sword hilt yearned to draw it and cut the whole fuckin' lot of 'em down. Instead, he steeled himself and marched over to her pulling her close. His lips, grazed her ear and he whispered, 'I am sorry, little bird.' Then he pressed his mouth to hers forcing it open. He could taste the blood in her mouth, from where she was bleeding. She did not resist as he kissed her, gently at first. Shit, he thought, fight me girl or it will not be enough for him. He wants to see you suffer. He caught a hand around the back of her neck bearing down on her forcefully blocking off her air as he kissed her roughly now. Desperate for air, she started to struggle, frantically trying to push him off her to no effect and then she went still.

He felt her go limp in his arms and looked up. Joffrey sat staring at them both, a greedy look on his face drinking in his destruction, well satisfied with the turn of events. 'Very good, dog' he said, 'now take her out of my sight.' Clegane, looked at him for a moment then pulled off his white cloak and wrapped the girl in it. He lifted her effortlessly and walked straight towards the doors. A silent rage was starting to build.


	3. Chapter 3

**SANDOR**

He stormed through the castle, his little bird pale and still in his arms. People broke in his path as the parting of a sea, their faces staring, registering different expressions, which changed to terror as they read whatever emanated from him. Time had slowed to a standstill and his whole body shook in his fury. Everything had changed, the whole world had moved and the Hound's allegiance had finally broken free and reattached itself to Sansa Stark. It was like awakening from a long sleep to find the veil that had been clouding his eyes had been lifted. He wanted to face the battlefield in that instance. To release it all into blood lust and destruction.

The door to her bedchamber crashed open as he put his shoulder to it without breaking his stride. The two maids caught whispering stared at him their mouths agape. 'Fetch the Maester!' he commanded. 'Now!' he added, as they remained frozen to the spots where they stood. They broke for the door muttering tones of acceptance to his demand and were gone.

Clegane paused by her bed and breathed in deeply, fighting to master himself. Then he felt her stir and his attention snapped sharply back to the task in hand. He laid her gently upon the bed, pausing to lift a pillow and place it under her head. His eyes raked over her swiftly assessing the damage. It was significant. One eye was now badly swollen, as was her lip, which had dried blood crusting one corner of it. He pressed two fingers to her pale white throat, which showed the marks one of his hands had left. Then there was relief as he felt her pulse, steady and strong and he realised there was no immediate danger. Her dress hung in tatters to her waist where Meryn had cut it with his dagger leaving her breasts exposed. There was bruising to her chest but it was old and fading, mainly shades of yellow. He saw the vivid purple across the left of her rib cage and surmised that a rib was likely broken, perhaps two where that mailed fist had punched her. He laid his cloak over her to cover her. Moving swiftly, he passed round to the base of the bed and ripped a piece from a sheet, neatly folded on the blanket box and dipped it in the water basin. He used the make shift cloth to press against her forehead. The cool dampness seemed to make her start to come around.

Where the fuckin' hell is Pycelle he thought. Then the Maester was there limping arthritically into the room, followed by the two maids, carrying his medicine bag, clean linens and a pail of what he guessed to be hot water. 'You took your time' he barked. 'I am an old man, and this Keep is large.' The Maester, hesitated a few feet away taking in Sansa's form lay on the bed. 'Another beating for the child,' he said quietly and Clegane felt reproach in his tone and cold shards of guilt and shame began to etch down his spine. 'I'm off' he stated bluntly. 'She has taken a blow to her ribs and three blunt sword strikes across the backs of her legs. She hit her face when she fell.' The need to flee from this was upon him. He needed to go to the nearest tavern and get a flagon of wine to drown out this nightmare.

Before he could get back through the door, however, the Maester had called out. 'No, I need your help. If not you, you will need to go and get me another man to lift her as I treat her wounds.' This was torture, he needed to leave but who would replace him? The thought of some bastard glorifying in her body while she lay unconscious was unthinkable. 'I'll stay' he said flatly pacing back to stand by Pycelle. 'What do you need me to do?'

Pycelle had him cut her dress free. Blood had seeped into the soft silk skirts. He worked carefully and methodically, taking care not to jerk her as he cut away the silks leaving just what remained of her underdress. Pycelle examined her abdomen closely muttering quietly to himself, 'two damaged ribs, two cracked I believe.' He then lifted one of her legs carefully to look at the back of her thigh. Three, thick deep welts, their edges weeping blood lay across her leg. Again, they lay against a backdrop of older healing bruises and marks. It suddenly hit Cleagne, with horror the extent to which the varied abuses over the previous weeks had amounted to.

Pycelle, asked him to lift her top half up so he could tape her ribs. Her head lolled and he put one hand behind her head to hold it steady. Her auburn hair had worked loose from the intricate braid that had held it fashionably loosely at the nape of her neck and it fell across the back of his hand. Holding her broken, exposed body in this intimate way was unbearable. 'That is done. Now turn her over and be careful not to apply any pressure to those ribs' Pycelle said providing a welcome interruption to his torment.

As Pycelle started to clean the wounds on the back of her thighs, Sansa started to moan. He started involuntarily and crouched down next to her. 'Stop that Pycelle, she is coming round. Listen, she is in pain.' Pycelle, was already in his medicine bag, pulling out bottles, preparing what he knew would be dream wine or milk of the poppy. 'Sansa. Sansa can you hear me?' Sansa! He could hear the pleading in his voice. For what he was pleading he had no idea, forgiveness, understanding, anger?

**SANSA**

Shadows danced through the periphery of her vision and voices echoed, as if at a distance just beyond her hearing. The pain was confusing, overwhelming. It was everywhere, beyond her comprehension. Then she thought she heard her name, and the sight of the hound's burned face. By some instinct, she stretched her arm towards him and his large hand enveloped hers. She tried to speak, to say ... but a sweet cloying liquid was in her mouth now, and the world was spinning, and then there was nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**SANDOR**

He had clutched her hand filled with an inexplicable panic. She had tried to say something to him, he had seen a word forming on her lips and then Pycelle had been there with the drink to knock her out and she had slipped away again. That had been all he could take and this time he had fled from the room. His immediate thought had been to go and find drink and to be consumed by oblivion but he hadn't. Instead he had found himself back inside his meager chambers, pacing and pacing. What in the seven hells was happening to him? He hadn't asked for this. He didn't want this. The truth was the Hound had cloaked himself in anger and in violence for many a long year. He wanted that safety now and it seemed lost to him.

His thoughts strayed back to Pycelle. He was a Lannister creature through and through. What had he seen? Not too much really, apart from that madness at the end when he had started calling the girls name. Pycelle was likely to hear the story soon though. How the Hound had kissed the Lady Stark and she had fainted from the horror of it. Pycelle though had seen the bruises on her neck where he had wrapped a big hand and choked the girl unconscious with her own necklace. Would he put it together and would he guess what had really happened. Yet, he had seemed genuinely aggrieved to see the girl beaten once more. Even if he did surmise something though, he was Joffrey's dog after all. Pycelle, the craven old man he was, feared him and was unlikely to pick a fight off such flimsy evidence knowing he was like to snap him like a brittle twig upon a dark stair.

Joffrey on the other hand was something else. He knew the boy inside out and what made him tick. He had been with him for many years and seen the sadistic seed within him from him being very small. He had recognised it because he had seen it before in another when he himself was but a boy. The power had intensified it and made it grow. With nobody to routinely quash it, with Robert gone, he was now truly out of control. He had seen the twisted pleasure and delight on his young face as Sansa had blacked out. He had saved her from that moment but opened up a new avenue of thought for Joffrey. He will wish to use me now as his vehicle to inflict cruelties on her he thought. Ripping her dress and ordering him to kiss her had been the first time the king had moved towards sexual abuse but he was now that age and his imagination was moving to new arenas. It said it all, he thought bitterly. A king that busies himself tormenting young girls when his uncle is about to sack King's Landing. His other uncle, Tyrion, the Imp was back and had made efforts to rein in his nephews excesses but with Stannis mere days away the Hand spent much of his time locked in his room with seas of books and maps or in endless council meetings. He had little time to keep watch over the little bird.

He knew now that he had to get her out and there was very little time. Her injuries, would buy a little, maybe a couple of days but Joffrey would be wetting himself with excitement over what he could think up next. He couldn't even think of trying to escape though until she was healed enough to travel. The sea was not an option with Stannis's fleet moving in. The only other way, to ride out, was treacherous. The city was in lock down and sealed. Guards patrolled the city walls and the populace was starving and vengeful. Then if he did get out, where would he take her? He could he supposed try and take her back to her mother but it was a long road, fraught with dangers. Clegane, finally threw himself onto his bed exhausted. I must find a way, he thought and finally fell into a fitful sleep filled with dark dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a little update tonight, I have a long chapter in progress and some action on the way ...**

**SANSA**

Glimpses of light spilled in tendrils through a gap in the heavy damask drapes illuminating the still form of a sleeping girl. As time drew onwards the light crept across the bed until it fell across Sansa's face. As the heat soaked into her bare cheek, she started to stir, a hand instinctively rising to provide a barrier against the insistent rays. Her eyes snapped open. Memories flooded through her mind, startling terrifying memories. Joffrey, Ser Meryn, the Hound. The Hound! An involuntary gasp escaped from her. He had known, yet he had not told? But, then Joffrey had ordered him to kiss her, and he had. It was a shock, but somehow not terrible, instead strangely gentle. Then she couldn't breathe and she had been falling and falling into a luminous black hole. He was calling her name and she was reaching for him, and he had caught her as she fell.

**SANDOR**

He stood stock-still, hand resting on his sword hilt as his king signed multiple scrolls. Joffrey was impatient and foul tempered this morning; he had little time for his duties. As he signed the last one and ordered everybody out of the room he turned to Clegane, a smirk appearing on his fat lips.

'I was impressed with your performance yesterday. It would seem you are a very effective punishment for, my lady, indeed.' He stressed the words, _my lady_ with a voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Maybe, we should pay a visit to her chambers, tonight? What say you, dog?'

Inwardly, Clegane felt himself flinch. Yet he had been expecting something like this. He kept his face impassive. 'I looked in on her this morning.'

Joffrey's face became eager, malign greed distorting his features. 'How did she react when she saw you? Did she weep?'

'She remains unconscious, your Grace.' Clegane rasped quietly. 'It would be more interesting, would it not if we waited a couple of days for her to regain her.' He paused, shifting uncomfortably, '... her composure?'

Joffrey looked sulky, 'I suppose' he conceded grudgingly. 'In the meantime though, you can guard her. It will serve well as a reminder of what she deserves as a Stark. Do not let her out of your sight and as soon as she is recovered let me know.'

Clegane said carefully, 'Are you sure, you would have your dog so near your betrothed?' This was more than he could have hoped for.

'She will not be that, forever!' Joffrey declared his smirk widening into a satisfied grin. 'I will never marry that wolf bitch. When we have beat my Uncle Stannis and I have his head on a spike I will have the Septon declare the betrothal dissolved because of her traitor's blood and take another. ' Joffrey started to giggle, 'you know? I might just have to give her to that brother of yours as a reward for his work with the small folk. They say he has already got through a couple of wives. No doubt he will be happy to get through another! Don't worry though, you can have her first.'

Gregor. The thought left him reeling. He was struggling to keep his face inscrutable and for that moment found himself fighting an internal battle while Joffrey remained oblivious to the impact he had wrought. His hand twitched against his long sword and he was so close. Instead, he simply said, 'when do you want me to start.'

'Now' said Joffrey and Clegane walked swiftly from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**The plans are being laid... maybe some revenge should be on its way?**

**SANDOR**

He strode purposefully across the castle, a plan starting to form. There were many dangers to taking to the road with a girl weak from her injuries but his suspicions had been confirmed. She could not stay here. His anger had been replaced by a calm deadly intent and his mind was clear. Whether in this life or the next, he was going to make them pay for their sins. There was much to do to prepare for their flight but first he needed to see her.

He rapped impatiently at the door and without waiting for a response walked in. Sansa was alone propped up on the bed against a pile of pillows. On sight of him, her eyes went wide and her hands leapt to her throat. Seven hells he thought, what the hell did you expect dog? The last time she saw you, you choked her unconscious; of course she is terrified of you. A sharp pain, borne of her reaction went through his chest. He stopped next to her bed, suddenly indecisive, at a loss for words. For what seemed like an eternity, they both remained frozen.

Then Sansa raised her chin and looked straight into his eyes. The shock that coursed through him was palpable. It was though those clear blue eyes were reading his very soul. This time, despite all the times he had admonished her for not looking directly on his face, it was he that couldn't look on her and his eyes dropped to the floor breaking the contact.

**SANSA**

She had heard the heavy footsteps outside and knew that someone was coming for her. Then the banging at the door and then he, _the Hound_ had burst in, filling the doorframe. As he stopped, looming large over the bed it evoked a memory. A memory, of him coming towards her and she had involuntarily grasped her throat with both her slender hands. She felt torn and confused unable to resolve the events of the previous day. The silence had stretched out, tension cracking in the air. Possessed of an unexpected courage she had raised her eyes to his searching for an answer and in that moment before he broke her gaze, in those stormy grey eyes she found it. She was safe. He did not mean her harm.

**SANDOR**

'Sandor' she said simply. 'Look at me.' Her soft voice rang in his ears. His heart was beating too fast; it felt ragged in his chest. With great difficulty he looked upon her again realizing how tiny and vulnerable she looked. Her hair fell in a tangle around her face and under her eyes were dark circles. His eyes fell on the marks fanning round her neck and the unfamiliar feeling of remorse flooded through him. Then the words came tumbling out halting and uncertain,

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry for what I did to you. I should have done something different, anything. I...'

She held out her hand, signaling for him to stop. Her voice was quiet and tremulous, 'You probably saved my life. I don't know what happened. I have been so frightened. Yet for some reason I could not bend to his will. Maybe, part of me wanted that, to escape, to be with my family and with my Lady guarding the North from above. For peace.'

If his resolution to take her from this place had been strong before, it was now made of valyrian steel. 'I will free you from your gilded cage, little bird. We will fly far from this place. Now you must heal enough to ride. That is the only path that is open to us and there is little time. Joffrey has bid me guard you to oversee your progress. He has ...' he paused struggling over what he needed to say, 'plans for you.' He had expected to see fear in her face but instead she looked upon him calmly, 'Thank you Ser. I would very much like to leave this place' and she inclined her head towards him. He felt that immediate feeling of irritation forming and a rebuke formed on his lips. Then he saw the shadow of a smirk on her lips and a sudden twinkle in her eye and he realised she was teasing him with her false courtesies and he started to laugh... and then so did she.


End file.
